her lips. She held out both hands to her husband.
’And we will never speak of him, never, do you
hear, my dear one? And I will not leave my room
till he is gone. And do you now send me my maids
... but stay: take away that thing!’ she
pointed to the pearl necklace, lying on a little bedside
table, the necklace given her by Muzzio, ’and
throw it at once into our deepest well. Embrace
me. I am your Valeria; and do not come in to
me till ...
he has gone.’ Fabio took the
necklace—the pearls he fancied looked tarnished—and
did as his wife had directed. Then he fell to
wandering about the garden, looking from a distance
at the pavilion, about which the bustle of preparations
for departure was beginning. Servants were bringing
out boxes, loading the horses ... but the Malay was
not among them. An irresistible impulse drew
Fabio to look once more upon what was taking place
in the pavilion. He recollected that there was
at the back a secret door, by which he could reach
the inner room where Muzzio had been lying in the morning.
He stole round to this door, found it unlocked, and,
parting the folds of a heavy curtain, turned a faltering
glance upon the room within.
XII
Muzzio was not now lying on the rug. Dressed
as though for a journey, he sat in an arm-chair, but
seemed a corpse, just as on Fabio’s first visit.
His torpid head fell back on the chair, and his outstretched
hands hung lifeless, yellow, and rigid on his knees.
His breast did not heave. Near the chair on the
floor, which was strewn with dried herbs, stood some
flat bowls of dark liquid, which exhaled a powerful,
almost suffocating, odour, the odour of musk.
Around each bowl was coiled a small snake of brazen
hue, with golden eyes that flashed from time to time;
while directly facing Muzzio, two paces from him,
rose the long figure of the Malay, wrapt in a mantle
of many-coloured brocade, girt round the waist with
a tiger’s tail, with a high hat of the shape
of a pointed tiara on his head. But he was not
motionless: at one moment he bowed down reverently,
and seemed to be praying, at the next he drew himself
up to his full height, even rose on tiptoe; then,
with a rhythmic action, threw wide his arms, and moved
them persistently in the direction of Muzzio, and
seemed to threaten or command him, frowning and stamping
with his foot. All these actions seemed to cost
him great effort, even to cause him pain: he breathed
heavily, the sweat streamed down his face. All
at once he sank down to the ground, and drawing in
a full breath, with knitted brow and immense effort,
drew his clenched hands towards him, as though he
were holding reins in them ... and to the indescribable
horror of Fabio, Muzzio’s head slowly left the
back of the chair, and moved forward, following the
Malay’s hands.... The Malay let them fall,
and Muzzio’s head fell heavily back again; the
Malay repeated his movements, and obediently the head
